


Standing Offer

by EqualsTrashFlavoredTrash



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Praise Kink, Touch-Starved, does it count as road head if you're in space?, gender neutral reader, some mutual pining if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:07:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22657528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EqualsTrashFlavoredTrash/pseuds/EqualsTrashFlavoredTrash
Summary: The Mandalorian asks his companion if an offer she made while drunk is still open
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 217





	Standing Offer

The Mandalorian heard you approaching but stayed silent, facing forward and waiting. Your fingers came to rest on his elbow as you said, “The child is finally asleep.” 

He sighed at the weight of your hand atop the canvas fabric of his sleeve. It was a small gesture—something he knew you did out of mindless habit and not affection. He’d seen the way your people interacted, hands always making contact with whoever was being spoken to, a courtesy that no one thought twice about. He’d come to look forward to these small moments of touch. He also knew you usually refrained from touching him so casually—but still sometimes you would slip up, times like now when you were tired from rocking the fussy green child to sleep.

“He misses you when you go out on jobs,” You continue, hands brushing his forearm as you settled into the co-pilot’s chair next to him. “Sometimes the little guy will stand at the bay door for hours, watching the horizon for you.” He tried to focus on your words but his mind was distracted. 

“Do you remember Coruscant?” He asks abruptly, turning his head slightly to look back, watching your expression. 

Your head dropped to the side, studying the emotionless helmet, “You mean when I got drunk?”

“Yes,” The mandalorian replies, his tone coming out curt through the distortion of his modulator. His grip on the armrest tightened, your fingers were still tapping idly against him. “And that night, when I—when I tried to get you to go to sleep, you—,”

“I remember,” you cut him off, your touch going stiff as you pulled away to nervously rub your palms together. Honestly, you had dearly hoped he’d never bring that night up—you’d behaved a bit too brazenly while drunk and were certain you’d offended him. Your hangover the next morning was one of the worst ever, not due to the head ache but because even though you couldn’t see his face you knew he was avoiding looking at you.

“Were you serious?” He asks, his chair now turned halfway around towards you. The Mandalorian could see your confusion and tried to clarify in the most tactful way possible. “The offer you made that night, does it still stand?” 

The dawning realization of what he meant, what exactly he was asking you, is clear in your expression— _he wasn’t mad at you_. 

“Nevermind, forget I said anything,” He reverts before you have a chance to reply, dashing the idea as he turns around. 

“No Mando, wait,” you reach out, grabbing at his bicep and stopping him before he can fully move away. “Do you,” you hesitate, watching the solid beskar of his helmet for any hint of a reaction. “Do you want me to go down on you?” 

He’s silent for a moment, stiff as a board hoping you can’t hear just how hard he’s breathing. “I wanted to that night,” he began, watching you from the corner of his eye, “but it didn't feel right. You weren’t—,” he trailed off once he saw the grin that spread across your face.

Without hesitation you sink to the ground and edge forward, maneuvering your way between his knees.

“Wait—,” he blurts out, starting to panic at the idea that this is actually happening, and reaches out to grab your shoulders before you can get closer. “You don’t have to do this, there’s no obligation.”

“Mando,” you interrupt, looking up at his visors as you grab his wrists, moving his hands away before resting your own on either of his thighs. “I want to, I promise I do.”

He practically melts at hearing you say that, relaxing into his seat as you make fast work of his belt. You struggle with the locking mechanism for a moment before he brushes your hands away and unclasps it himself. Fumbling slightly, he rushes to lift his padded shirt, giving you full access to the zipper on his trousers. As you peel away the layers you can tell he’s already hard, seeing his bulge straining against the fabric of his underwear. 

You can hear him sigh through the modulator when you pull back the waistband. Wrapping your fingers around his cock, you finally get a good look and let out a soft, “Oh my.”

This catches the Mandalorian’s attention. You spot the movement out of the corner of your eye, his chin dropping forward to look down at you. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong,” you’re quick to reply, eager to to assuage any fear he might have. “You’re just bigger than I was expecting.” He doesn't respond and so you add on as an afterthought, “Mando, that’s a good thing.”

“Oh,” his voice is so soft you almost don’t hear his response. 

Refocusing your efforts, you squeeze your hand, wrapping your fingers around his length and giving a few test pulls before leaning in. You look up at him through your lashes, watching where you think his eyes rest behind the dark visor before dragging your tongue from base to tip, wetting the underside with the breadth of you tongue before swirling around the head. You can hear his helmet clink—falling back against the headrest—as he lets out a low grown. 

“Fuck,” he hisses as you take him past your lips, teasing at the tip of his cock with your tongue. “Your mouth is so warm.” You hum in response and then pull him out with a pop. Gathering the saliva in your mouth you spit, letting it drip from your lips onto his cock before spreading it further down the length of him with your palm. 

“Keep talking,” you request as you stretch your lips around him again, seeing just how far into your mouth he can reach before you start to gag. Your jaw strains as you fit him in, breathing through your nose while you try to sup around his girth. You can feel the tip of his cock tickling at the back of your throat when his hand jumps to the crown of your head. His fingers dig into your scalp, messing up your hair, holding you still. Unable to move, you choose instead to hollow your cheeks and suck.

“Mm, you feel s’good,” he moans, tugging at your hair now to guide your movements. You continue to stroke the base of his cock that doesn't fit with your hand, fingers bumping against your lips as you bob up and down. “I’ve wanted this for s’long, since—since before Coruscant.”

A heat in your chest blooms at his comment and you suck harder, warmed by the thought that the Mandalorian actually wanted you. The knowledge that your silly crush wasn’t one-sided urges you on, taking his length further towards the back of your throat. 

Rearing back for a moment to catch your breath while bringing your other hand forward to scoop his balls out from his underwear. You’re too focused on the newly revealed parts of his skin to notice the noises he makes as you do—but once you draw one between your lips, there’s no missing the loud grunt from above you. 

When you return to his cock, there’s a bubble of precum leaking from the tip that you eagerly lick up before taking him into your mouth, humming at the salty flavor. You continue to bob your head and suck, feeling his hand in your hair, tugging along and letting him guide your moments.

“Just like that,” he hisses, encouraging you to keep up the pace as your hands glide over his cock. “Fuck, you’re doing so well,” the words tumble from his mouth without thought, “You’re too good—fuck—t’good to me.”

Your free hand moves up to roll his balls in your palm as you hollow your cheek and give a hard pull—this is what seems to tip him over the edge. He goes rigid and his fist on your scalp tenses, holding your head down as he finishes. You try to swallow the load but he cums more than you expect. Pulling away, you bring a hand to your mouth to catch the overflow that follows with his cock. 

Swallowing what’s left in your mouth you notice the way the chest plates of his armor rise and fall with his heavy breaths. Your eyes travel further up to his dark visor, finding it trained on your face. Giving him a teasing smirk you stick out your tongue and lick up his cum pooled in your palm. 

The hand resting on your head flexes quickly as he watches you clean off your skin before dropping to cup your jaw, his thumb rubbing gently across your cheekbone.

“How was that?” you ask in a light tone, shifting to rest on one hip instead of your knees while leaning into his touch. 

“Better than I imagined.” His words fanned the flame in your belly from before and you could feel your cheeks heating up. “Thank you,” the Mandalorian sighed more than spoke, his voice still breathy through the modulator.

“No thanks needed, the pleasure was mine.” You can’t help but giggle at him, one hand idly rubbing his thigh before you add, “If you ever wanted to return in kind though, I wouldn’t complain.” 

“Give me a minute.” There’s a hitch in his voice that could almost be mistaken for a laugh and you wonder if he’s smiling under the helmet. 

You pause for a moment, gathering the nerve before asking, “Is there anything else you imagined?” 

“Maybe,” he teases, his hand shifting to slide down the side of your neck, coming to rest along your collarbone where his thumb hooks into your shirt. “Take this off and I might show you.” 


End file.
